Exitium Silentium
by Anorptron
Summary: When a trip abroad goes south lives will end, hearts will break and the world goes silent. (May add what the letters say in a later chapter.)


**AN: Title means the Destruction of Silence. I'm working on the next chapter of Fed Up, the chapters got mixed up and I'm currently re-ordering them. I'm also writing a fic where my fav trio (Bess, Conrad and Russell) are taken hostage!**

 **Read and Review! Enjoy!**

 **/**

Conrad hit the ground hard. Someone had pushed and fallen on top of him seconds later. The person on top of him rolled off to the side, removing the restriction on his lungs. He put his hands to either side of him and pushed up into a sitting position. Conrad brought his left hand up, inspecting the red that ran down his forearm and hand, staining his skin a light pink. it.

Dread pooled within him as he recognized the dark red blood. His gaze snapped to the prone body beside him. Conrad's gut churned as his gaze raced passed the blood covered body and straight to the ashen face.

 _Bess._

Conrad scrambled to her side and gently rolled her over. Bile filled his throat when he saw the limp form of his friend.

 _Focus,_ He thought, tucking away his feelings.

Conrad yanked his handkerchief out of the suit and pressed it on her wound. "Elizabeth. Wake up!" He slightly shook her, trying not to let the panic clawing in his gut show.

" _Elizabeth_!" Sharper this time, fear spiking his tone.

Her eyes wandered, not really seeing him, or anything else. She blinked repeatedly, trying to make sense of the blur hovering above her. "C'nrad?"

He gave her a weak attempt of a smile, but the relief in his tone was real. "Yeah Bess. It's me." He put more pressure on her wound; it was bleeding steadily. It had started to pool around them, he felt the thick liquid soak his pants.

She gasped from below him, it was a weak, pain filled gasp. Barely louder than a whisper, but it echoed in his mind. "Are you okay, sir?"

"I'm fine." He practically growled, his worry transforming into anger.

"Good...good…" She said weakly, pain shooting up her spine as she breathed

"Focus, Bess." His voice lowered, trying to seem more comforting than angry. "I know it hurts, but you can't close your eyes." Conrad's voice was gentle, but brittle, as if it would crack at any moment.

She began to nod, but hissed in pain at the small movement.

"S'r," She began, prompted by the sounds of chaos surrounding them, "You have to take cover. They can't get you."

His jaw clenched and fire raged in his eyes, "There is no way in _hell_ I'm leaving you here."

Elizabeth didn't seem surprised by his answer, rather, resigned. "Sir, I'm dead weight, I-"

" _Don't you dare_ say what you're about to say." He commanded, his face a ghostly pale.

She let her head fall back to the floor; it was costing to much energy to keep looking up.

Conrad looked down at her. The color was draining from her face and the blood showed no sign of slowing. He couldn't block out the one thought he had been blocking out since he saw her: _she was dying._ And he was _powerless_ to stop it. Him. The leader of the Free World, the President of the United states was fucking _powerless_ and was resigned to watch his friend slowly bleed to death after taking a bullet meant for him.

His voice lost the power it held before, "We need somewhere to hide. Do you remember passing any rooms on the way here?"

She looked up at him, her eyes clouded, but still managed to say, "There's a room down the hallway behind us."

Conrad bit the inside of his cheek. He'd have to leave her to see if it was safe to hide over there. The internal debate pitted heart against mind. And his heart only had one argument, but it was enough to make him pause. _This was Bess. And she was dying._

 _But she'll be safer in a secure room._ His mind argued. His mind won.

Conrad took her hands and placed them on top of her wound, "Keep pressure on it. I'll be right back." He hesitated a second longer before standing and creeping down the hallway, forcing himself not to look back.

He hugged the wall as he peaked around the corner. It was -mercifully- empty, excluding the rubble and the body on the floor. It was one of his security guards. Jonathan Fassy, one of his newer guys. Conrad shook his head in sorrow; the man didn't deserve to die. But he couldn't linger on that, not when he could save Elizabeth.

Conrad rolled his feet as he stepped, making his footsteps quieter. He knelt next to the agent and pried the gun out of his fingers. It was a glock 22, standard issue with a full magazine and one in the chamber. The President lined his finger above the trigger, just liked he had been trained in the army.

He held the gun out in front of him, his arms slightly bent as he pushed open the first, and only door in the hallway. The door thankfully didn't creak under the force.

The room was sparsely furnished. It looked to be an empty supply room, but it would have to do. Conrad cautiously entered the room and checked the closets. After making sure it was secure, he lowered his gun; tucking it in his waistband. Conrad began to shove things out of the way, clearing out an area for them.

After assuring himself that that was the best he could do, he drew the pistol from his waist band and slowly walked into the hallway. Conrad peeked around the corner to where Bess was, but did a double take when he saw a form leering over her, a gun in hand.

The unbridled anger that he had been holding back in favor of trying to save his friend came surging forward. Adrenaline raced through his veins, making him feel stronger, better, and finally not powerless.

Conrad steadied his breathing, _in out in out,_ and he felt his face change ever so slightly. His eyes narrowed a fraction, and his eyes became cold, hard, blank almost, if it wasn't for the anger that made them stand out.

"Get the _hell_ away from her." He commanded, his voice a deadly ice. He was already aiming the gun at the man who barely looked up before the President cocked the gun.

The man tensed, but smirked and cocked his gun too, except his was pointed at Elizabeth's head. "Mr. President, I've been looking for y-"

"You have three seconds to get away from her." Conrad growled, not taking his eyes off the man.

"Would you really risk your life for hers?" The man goaded, "Because she doesn't think you woul-"

"3." His voice was level, but sharp.

The man opened his mouth to respond, but got cut off by Conrad. "2."

The man looked down to Elizabeth and the President fired two bullets in close succession. The man's gun fell with him, instead of hitting Bess.

Conrad kept his weapon trained on the man for several seconds, making sure he was truly dead.

He looked down over to his friend. She hadn't moved during the entire exchange, not even when the gunshot went off.

Conrad faltered in his step. "Bess?" He called, his voice cracking as he inched forward.

"Bess." He repeated, closer this time. The fear he had lost sight of when his anger took hold was back, and it was mounting. The President kneeled beside her and checked her for a pulse. It was there. Just barely.

With her being unconscious, she couldn't walk. Nor could he carry her; he was much too old for that now. Conrad looked around them and tore down an old orange and red tapestry. It would do.

He laid it out on the ground and began to pull her onto the cloth. But that only increased his worry. Not because she groaned in pain, or complained, but because she said nothing.

It took a while, longer than he had expected to pull her into the storage room. And she hadn't made a sound through it all. Once he had got her in, Conrad quietly shut the door and propped a chair under the handle for an extra measure.

He walked over to where Bess was lying and slid down the wall. His suit caught on the rough exterior of the wall, but he didn't care that it tore. He'd burn the damn suit when they got out of there. It had Elizabeth's blood on it. Literally.

"Damnit Bess," He sighed, his voice weary. Conrad's eyes were tight as he looked at her, "Why would you-" He cut himself off. He knew why: Sentiment and Duty. The downfall of every honorable person. It was their Achilles Heel.

The President had complained about her principles, her morals, and ideals time and time again. But those weren't bad things to complain about. If anything it proved that he had chose right. He never thought that they would cause her to get hurt. _To get shot._

A shaky breath escaped him. This trip wasn't supposed to be like this. _Obviously._

" _S'r?"_ Her weak voice drew him from his thoughts.

"You don't have to call me that." He told her. Conrad was tired of being _sir,_ of being _Mr. President._ All he wanted to be was at the White House, to hear Russell griping about someone, to see Bess smirk at him and to laugh at Russell. He wanted to hold his wife and never let go. He wanted to see his son and tell him that he loved him.

"Conrad..." She broke off as she convulsed. A rough cough broke through when he helped her sit up a little. A thin line of red blood ran from the corner of her mouth and down her cheek. It stood out against the paleness of her face.

"Easy, easy." He murmured. Panic showed in his tone, and on his face. His muscles were taut.

Elizabeth reached for his hand, but she didn't have the strength to make it that far. Conrad swallowed the lump in his throat and put her hand in his.

"Tell Blake to hand out the letters in my desk."

He looked away, the finality of her words hit him like a punch in the gut.

"Bess. Please don't." _Say goodbye._

"Don't let Henry blame you for this." She told him, her hand slightly slipping out of his.

"I don't think I could stop him." _Or myself._

"You'll figure it out." Another coughing fit ran through her, he could feel her muscles tensing beneath him.

 _Make her laugh_ , he thought as more blood dripped down her face. _Tell her a story._

Conrad shifted so that her head was in his lap. She was so pale, a white bluish color, her lips were an ashen pink. _She didn't have long._ The blood slowed, but so did her pulse.

"Do you remember," He began, his voice cracking as he struggled to maintain his composure. "When we were younger, just back from an assignment in Iraq and George, Isabelle, Andrew, and Juliet surprised us as we got off the plane." His voice was brittle as he told the story. "It was during the winter and Andrew had the great idea to throw a snowball at us while we were still high on adrenaline."

She stirred for a second then stopped, her eyes halfway closed.

He gripped her hand and continued, "You had pulled me back seconds before it would have hit me. It had hit your arm instead." _That should have warned him of what she would do in the future. Less than half an hour ago to be exact. "_ You thought it had been a threat and almost sent James down to deal with them."

She had stopped responding, her hand limp in his grasp and a shuddering gasp for air racked her body.

"I threw one back at them and hit Juliet in the face. She tore me a new one for that." A glimpse of a smile graced her face. "It was me and you against them, until George came to our side." His voice gained a desperate tone as he watched her body still. "He was always on your side, no matter what." _So am I._

Her face was slack, but still had the small smile from mere seconds ago. Conrad's hand shook as he checked for a pulse.

He didn't find one. The cold, blank eyes stared up at him unflinchingly. They were such a contrast to the bright, lively, warm and friendly ones that he had aged with since he was in his twenties.

A strangled gasp escaped him. She was _dead._

Elizabeth was _dead._

Bess was _dead_.

Her cold, pale hand dropped from his hand on to her chest, with a muted thump. His hands were shaking violently and he tasted blood from the biting of his tongue. Conrad's breath came in shaky gasps as his eyes filled with tears.

Conrad wouldn't hear her argue with a fiery passion, the promise of vengeance coloring her tone. He wouldn't hear her quiet laugh or see the calculating look in her eyes. There would be nothing left oh her, besides her kids.

God. Her _kids._

They didn't even know that their mom just died.

A choked sob escaped him, he wanted to scream, to cry, to make someone hurt as much as he was. He wanted to hit something, to rid himself of the grief that had pierced his heart.

He wanted his friend _alive._ Not dead in his arms.

Conrad sat there, barely moving until his security team _finally_ found him. It could have been minutes, hours, days. He didn't know. He didn't care. All that mattered was that they were too late.

Russell had entered the room after the security team cleared it, the man's shirt was rolled up to his elbows and he had lost his suit jacket in the time he had been trapped in this place.

"Mr. President!" He had sounded relieved, but concern flickered in his tone. "Where's-" Russell broke off as he stared at Bess's body.

"Oh god. No."

The next thing Conrad remembered was being loaded onto Air Force One with a doctor looking over him. He'd go to a hospital in America.

There were murmured sympathies and muttered apologies. But above all else, there was silence. The one thing Bess hated. _Had_ hated.

Conrad found he hated it too. Because it only served as a reminder of what the world lost that day.

It served as a reminder that it's not always okay.


End file.
